


and here’s my hand

by starklystar



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29799630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar
Summary: A collection of oneshots about Paul, Hugh, and the Disco crew finding home and figuring out their hearts along the way.Updates on Wednesdays and occasionally on Sundays.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets, Paul Stamets & Sylvia Tilly
Comments: 40
Kudos: 78





	1. Place Your Bets on Science

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still going to be writing marvel fics, but since i'm having a block writing marvel and since i just binged the entire star trek show for these two space boos, i thought i'd get over my block by writing about these two delightful space dads and their ever-growing family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's only been on the _Discovery_ for a month, Hugh is late for lunch, and the bridge crew are nosy in the best way.

Paul tries to ignore the whispers. He _tries_. His PADD has more than enough lines of code for him to reconcile, but he can’t help feeling the glances that the bridge crew are giving him from a few tables down the mess hall.

“Is that your boss?” one of them, the one with an eye implant – Dotty? _Detmer_ – asks.

He’s only been on this ship for a month, and while he’s usually woefully bad with names and faces, he recognises Rhys as Hugh’s new gym partner, and he couldn’t possibly forget Tilly who sits across from Airiam. He tries to dredge up the rest of their names from his fuzzy memories of the helplessly boring briefing last week.

“Yeah,” Tilly’s unmistakably cheerful voice replies. “He’s really scary and really smart and – ”

“I can’t believe this ship is one day going to run on _mushrooms_ ,” Rhys’ voice interrupts.

A shame. Paul would’ve liked knowing more of what Tilly thought of him. _Scary?_ He knows he can be grumpy, but he’s tried his best to be patient, especially when Starfleet essentially shoved him and Straal into two ill-equipped, overcrowded starships bound for war.

Patience is running thin, though. He switches to his personal PADD just as a comm message flashes on the PADD’s screen. Tracy.

#### Private Comms

**Pollard, T. _[Lt./Medical]_**
    >>> _Hugh says sorry_
    >>> _Fifteen more minutes_
    >>> _Tonsillectomy had complications_

He glances at the tray of soup and noodles that’s gone cold in the twenty minutes since he sat down.

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _I could bring food to sickbay?_

Might as well kill two birds with one stone: finally have lunch with Hugh, and get away from the young crew too eager to gossip.

How is it that he’s spent a whole entire month on the same ship as Hugh, and yet the only time they’ve spent together is the three hours in bed when their night shifts overlap? And now that they _finally_ have an overlapping lunch break, Hugh’s stuck in a goddamned surgery.

Okay, no. He loves that Hugh saves lives, but… fine. He’ll admit it. He misses Hugh, and he’s coming very close to snapping at Lorca. Does it matter that Lorca’s the Captain when Paul is the only one who knows how to _properly_ fly the ship?

Tracy’s reply lights his PADD up again.

**Pollard, T. _[Lt./Medical]_**
    >>> _Hugh needs a break from sickbay_
    >>> _Fifteen minutes_
    >>> _I promise_

Well, then.

There isn’t anything useful to be gained staring that the PADD’s lines of code, and Paul sighs, putting it down with a final _thunk_ on the metal table.

“Uh-oh,” he hears Tilly say, “Lieutenant Stamets doesn’t look too happy.”

“Can’t you cheer him up with a weird mushroom?” a new voice asks. He thinks it might be Owosekun. It certainly doesn’t sound like Bryce.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Tilly blanch. “I’m not – I’m not going to slip hallucinogenic mycelia into the Lieutenant’s food – he’s _the_ mycelium king – I mean, expert – do you think I’m _crazy?_ ”

The pointed silence from the rest of the bridge crew speaks volumes.

Tilly huffs loudly enough that Paul can hear it. “Fine. Maybe I _am_ a bit crazy. But the good kind of crazy. And certainly not as crazy as you guys.”

Detmer laughs, leaning forward over her tray of – is that pasta? – and winks. “Are you doubting our mental health, Cadet?”

“No,” Tilly’s eyes turn comically wide. “ _No_ , Lieutenant Keyla, of course not, except, I dunno, do you think we should sit with him?”

“With Lieutenant Stamets? You really _are_ crazy,” Owosekun waves her fork sceptically, which Paul echoes in the privacy of his own mind. He chose this tucked away corner table for a very specific reason, thank you very much, and that chair across from him is saved for a very specific doctor.

Not for some young cadets to take over, no matter how well-meaning. There isn't anything wrong about Paul sitting in the corner alone. Nothing wrong at all.

Has it been fifteen minutes yet? Surely a tonsillectomy couldn’t take _that_ long.

When Hugh gets here, Paul is going to –

“Lieutenant.”

There’s the sound of a chair being dragged across the padded metal floor, and he only has a second to realise that – _damn._ Tilly’s smiling at him.

When he had added her to his list of staff for the experimental spore drive, he didn’t expect her to be _this_ much trouble.

“Cadet,” he answers evenly. Then, he turns to Rhys who has apparently dragged an extra chair to the table. “Ensign.”

“We, uh, we thought you might like company?” Tilly says brightly. “It’s just that you’ve been staring at your soup,” she waves at his untouched bowl, “and you were looking very sour, um, not sour _sour_ , I just – ”

“We haven’t had the chance to know you, Lieutenant,” Rhys cuts in to save her. “You’ll be flying the ship together with the bridge, and besides Airiam, none of us have really met you.”

“So if you don’t mind,” Lieutenant Detmer appears behind Rhys’ shoulder, carrying her own chair with her, “we’d like to join you.”

“I do mind,” the words tumble out of him. He scowls at the chronometer on the PADD. Twelve more minutes until Hugh comes. That is, if the tonsillectomy ever finishes. But when he looks back up from the PADD, Detmer’s seated herself in the chair he was saving for Hugh, and Bryce is sitting in the chair she’d brought.

“Technically, you don’t outrank us, Lieutenant,” Bryce smiles, “and as communications officer, I’d really like to be your friend.”

“Unless of course, you do need time alone,” Detmer adds quickly. “But I’m new here too, and I – I get that it can be hard. Especially when you’re alone.”

The _Shenzhou,_ Paul remembers just in time to stop himself from snapping at her to go away.

He closes his eyes for three heartbeats, pushing away the irritation of failed experiments and late partners.

The bridge crew are really just being friendly, young as they are – they’r what? Twenty, at most thirty years old, Paul guesses – and they don’t want to be in this war any more than Paul does. It’s not their fault that their bright-eyed wonder is being muddled by Lorca.

It’s also confusingly touching that they’d go to these lengths to offer him their friendship, even if he’s not in the mood for anyone other than Hugh.

“Thank you for your company,” the words sound odd coming out of his mouth. He quickly adds, “but I’m expecting other company.”

“Oh?” Tilly asks, voice high as she settles into her chair beside Owosekun. “Like for work? I didn’t know we had another spore drive specialist?”

Smiling blandly, he nods. Small talk. That shouldn’t be too hard. Hugh should be here in nine minutes to save him. Otherwise, they’re going to have a _very_ long talk in bed tonight.

“For work,” Paul decides that’s only half a lie. “I believe you know Doctor Culber? He’s very skilled in biology.” _My biology in particular._

Predictably, Rhys’ eyes light up. “How do you know Hugh?”

“He _is_ the CMO of this ship,” Paul edges away from the loaded question. Neither of them were been too keen on advertising their relationship when they’re warping their way to war. Besides, professionalism was good and it stopped Paul from marching up to sickbay and utilising a supply closet with Hugh.

Rhys seems disappointed by the answer. “I heard he was stationed at a Starbase at the war’s frontier before getting assigned here.”

Starbase 28. Paul decides to keep quiet, letting the crew carry on gossiping. He notices that Tilly seems to be particularly engrossed, trying her hardest to fit in. Her file _does_ say she wants to be Captain one day, but he thinks that she should be less trusting –

“You know, Hugh has a friend named Paul, too.” That’s Rhys again, looking expectantly at Paul. “They sounded pretty close.”

_Oh? Hugh talks about him?_ Paul schools his face into a blank, disinterested slate. “Really?”

Detmer leans forward again. “Are you saying Doctor C isn’t single?”

_Doctor C_ , Paul muses. This turned out to be a more informative lunch than he expected. Maybe he shouldn’t begrudge Tilly’s choice to move the group over to his table.

“Mind out of the gutter,” Owosekun laughs, stealing a piece of meat from Detmer’s tray. “Doctor Culber is a Lieutenant _Commander_. Also,” she turns to Paul, “I’ve read his neurology papers. I can tell why you’d want to pick his mind.”

“Doctor Culber does have a brilliant mind,” Paul smiles at her. Strangely enough, their interest in Hugh is flattering. They clearly think Hugh is attractive _and_ intelligent.

He wonders how none of the bridge crew have taken the time to check the crew manifest and spotted his shared quarters with Hugh, but he supposes that’s all the better if they want to keep their relationship on the down low, away from the rumor mill.

More than that, though, he's reminded with a jolt that no matter how Captain Lorca might phrase it, they're a _science_ vessel. Owosekun had to be skilled in at least five fields of science to be the bridge's operations officer, and Bryce is an expert in interstellar speech patterns and linguistics. At heart, they're as hopeful as he himself had been two decades ago. _Damn_ , he feels suddenly old.

Despite their penchant for gossip, each of the crew were brilliant in their own way.

How many times had he wanted this as a young scientist? Fellow explorers to share his fascination with. He's found a fellow mind in Straal, but Justin had different priorities, different ambitions.

Maybe he has a place on this ship outside of engineering, outside of Hugh's arms. Maybe not all of Starfleet is rotten to the core by war and destruction.

He blinks as Airiam mentions the neural pathways that mycelia might imitate, even as Owosekun brings up another one of Hugh's old papers on exoneurology. He finds he can respect their brilliance.

“Exoneurology?” Tilly chimes in again, her hand nearly knocking down Detmer’s glass of juice. “Doctor Culber’s my assigned physician. He was really nice during my check up yesterday. What does he know about spores?”

Bless her. “Not much,” Paul tells her, seeing an out. “He’s my assigned physician too. He wanted to talk to me about that.”

Tilly frowns. “During lunch? You’re not going to sickbay? Isn’t lunch supposed to be off duty time?”

Too observant, and not observant at all. He’ll have to train her to see the _right_ things if she’s ever going to be Captain. For now, though, he has six pairs of eyes staring expectantly at him, and he keeps his bland smile firmly pasted on his face.

“The good doctor is coming out of a long surgery. He needs sustenance,” Paul leaves out the fact that sustenance often includes a kiss, “and he thought we could discuss things here to save us both time.”

Airiam tips her head to the side, and Rhys whistles. “Are you sure Hugh wasn’t coming on to you – hmph – ”

Eyes wide, Detmer has a hand over Rhys’ mouth. “What Rhys means is we didn’t know you’d be discussing private medical matters.”

Grinning, Owosekun nods along. “It was nice to meet you, Lieutenant.”

Right. He can respect their brilliance while letting them enjoy their youthful follies.

Paul returns Owosekun's nod as he scrambles for her rank. He's sure she's still an Ensign, although her promotion to Lieutenant Junior-Grade is coming soon. “Thank you, Ensigns,” he gives Rhys a nod too, and he lets them start to scatter. Detmer stands with her now empty tray, Bryce and Airiam taking the chairs back. There’s two minutes left to Hugh’s promised fifteen minutes.

“Have a good day, Stamets,” Airiam gives him an approximation of a smile, hovering near the table.

“Enjoy the rest of lunch,” he returns. Then, “Cadet.”

Tilly’s eyes widen comically. “Yes?”

He hands her his PADD with the troublesome lines of code. “Take a look at this. I’ll be done with lunch in an hour. I expect to have a report when I get back.”

She squeaks. “Yes, sir. Lieutenant. Yes. One hour.”

Was he being unfair? He’s sure her second opinion would be useful, and –

“Ladies.” A hand falls on his shoulder. He jumps for a second, but finds himself leaning into its familiar warmth. “Gentlemen,” Hugh greets them from behind him. A tray appears in Paul’s vision, filled with Paul's favorite burritos and sweet, _sweet_ coffee, just the way he loves it.

“Doctor C!” Detmer greets happily. Paul remembers with a jolt that Hugh had been the one to insert her neural ocular implants, and he doesn’t begrudge it when Hugh smiles as happily back at her.

“Keyla, I hope everything is fine?”

Sometimes, he envies how easily Hugh could blend into the crowd, his bedside manner impeccable even on tablesides. Most times, he’s grateful for it, because when Hugh takes the spotlight, Paul doesn’t have to bother with too much social niceties, _and_ it gives him time to admire Hugh’s ass in the spotlight.

Detmer and the others nod. “All fine, Doctor, we were just getting to know Lieutenant Stamets.”

“And we’re leaving now,” Airiam herds them away with a finality.

Pauls keeps his own smile tamped down. “You’re late,” he tells Hugh shortly, well aware of the glances the bridge crew are throwing at him again. They’ve moved back to their previous table, but he’s under no illusions that they’re doing their damned hardest to eavesdrop.

“You made new friends,” Hugh sits across him. More quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“My soup’s gone cold.”

“Luckily, I’ve just ordered some warm burritos.” Quick as a flash, Hugh trades their trays with a smug grin. Whispering low to keep out of earshot, Hugh adds, “you never liked noodles anyway.”

“Too stringy,” Paul agrees, fighting the twitch of his lips. _God_ , he wants to kiss Hugh. He hasn’t quite gotten used to how well the white uniform fit over him.

He catches a whisper. It's most likely from Owosekun, judgement dripping from her words. “Did they just _switch_ their trays?”

“Maybe Hugh has a thing for men named Paul?” Rhys suggests.

“Hush, what are they saying?” Owosekun hisses. “I can’t hear them.”

“I mean, Doctor Culber _touched_ Lieutenant Stamets.” That _has_ to be Tilly’s voice, tinged with awe. “Do you know how impossible that is? One time Cadet Matthews accidentally brushed – ” 

Detmer shushes them, and when Paul glances their way, they’re all looking away from Hugh.

Hugh, however, also notices them chattering, and he raises a brow at Paul. “How long do you think until they figure out?”

Sipping at the warm coffee from Hugh’s tray, Paul shrugs. “At least two months.”

“Two? They’re pretty smart, you know? They’ll figure it out in a month.”

This time, Paul lets the smirk twist his lips up. He keeps his voice quiet. “Wanna bet? Winner gets to choose our next vacation spot.”

“Fair warning,” Hugh digs into his noodles, spinning it round and round on the fork, “if I win, I’m choosing that old Kaseelian opera house.”

“I’m sure Starbase 46 has enough moons for me to collect mushrooms from.”

“None of them will be as bright as you,” Hugh says with only a small lilt of teasing, clearly trying to make Paul blush. That won’t work.

“Moons don’t shine,” he points out.

“ _You_ do,” Hugh casually eats another forkful of noodles, lips stretching around it. Sinful. _Unfair_.

As devoted as Paul is to his mushrooms and to the research that Lorca keeps demanding he improve, he’s still a man. With a very handsome partner.

“I think some of the bridge crew has a crush on you,” he retaliates by letting his tongue poke out of his lips, for all intents and purposes seeming like he’s licking off a crumb of the burritos.

To his credit, Hugh barely reacts, instead laughing. “Only _some?_ I’ve got to step up my game.”

“And apparently, Rhys tells me you’re a very close friend with a man named Paul.”

“I’d be even closer to Paul if he didn’t work past 2300 every day. I’m a doctor, and even _my_ shifts aren’t as long as Paul’s.”

“Lorca keeps _pushing_ me,” he sighs, his humor gone. He’s only been on the ship for a _month_ , of course the spore drive won’t be perfectly up and running. “We’re not that far away from Straal. Our jumps are more consistent that the _Glenn_ ’s. They just jump faster. Speirin 27? I’m not sacrificing safety for speed.”

Beneath the table, Hugh’s ankles bump against his. A silent gesture of comfort. Of course Hugh doesn't hold it cagainst him that they've both been too busy to spend time with each other despite their reassignment. Still, Paul holds it against himself, because Hugh deserves better.

“Hey,” Hugh's insistent voice cuts through his thoughts. “That’s why I’m here on _Discovery_. I trust you. I trust you to keep us safe. And it’s good that you’re making new friends.”

Paul gives him an unimpressed look. “I wouldn’t call them _friends_.” He wrinkles his nose. “They gossip too much. But at least they respect you.”

Another laugh escapes Hugh. “I’m making a new bet: you’re gonna adopt Tilly by the end of six months.”

“ _Tilly?_ ” Paul actually takes a good look at the other table. Most of the bridge crew have lost their interest in gossiping about Hugh, and Tilly has her head buried in the PADD that Paul had handed off to her. Her hair is all over the place, a curly mess. “She’s…” he searches for an excuse. “She’s loud.”

“She’s exactly your kind of smart.”

“She’s clumsy.”

“Says the man who couldn’t unzip my pants last night.”

This time, it’s harder to keep the blush from rising up his cheeks. “That’s _different_ ,” he insists. “I was tired. I’ll be happy to show you how skilled my hands are when I'm wide awake.”

“Right now?” Hugh challenges.

“As long as it isn’t right here,” Paul refuses to back down.

“Tracy’s gonna murder us if we use the medical supply closet.”

“There’s always the one in engineering.”

“I’ll meet you there in five minutes?”

Paul finishes his coffee. “Don’t you _dare_ be late.”

* * *

“Lieutenant Stamets?”

Glancing up, Paul notices the way Tilly is wringing her hands nervously. He lets her twist her hands a few more times before answering. “Yes?”

“Did your check up with Doctor Culber go well?”

He frowns. The lovebite just beneath the edge of his collar twinges. “It went well,” he strides towards the spore chamber, toggling with some controls. “Is that all?”

“Someone, uh, I was looking for some extra spore cannisters in the supply closet, and it’s, ah,” she shrugs, “a bit messy in there? I swear I didn’t do anything, but there were things all over the floor, it looks like someone knocked things around.”

Keeping a straight face is hard. He hides his smile by turning away to check on some irrelevant data on the console. “I’ll get some drones in there to clean things up,” he promises.

“You don’t – I mean, you don’t think it’s a security issue? People snooping in the supply closet?” Tilly asks, voice one octave higher than usual. She must be quite nervous.

He takes pity on her, and reaches out to touch her elbow, which makes her freeze.

“It’s only a security issue if it happens again,” he tells her, and it’s not going to happen again, because as Paul has just discovered, the supply closet isn’t the most comfortable place for more risqué meetings. They should try the cultivation bay, next. He has the lock codes for it.

Now _that’s_ an idea.

Tilly bites her lower lip, and ultimately relents. “Okay. Alright. And, uh, nevermind.”

_You’re going to adopt Tilly by the end of six months_ , Hugh’s teasing voice echoes in his mind. He has half a mind to stubbornly turn her away, but it’s unfair to her, and if Hugh trusts Paul with his life, then Paul trusts Hugh with his heart.

Hugh _does_ have a way of knowing what’s good for him, and if it means he has to start planting roots in the ship, to build a home beyond his mycelia, he supposes Tilly is a much better person to trust than Lorca.

“Cadet?” he asks, making sure to add some insistence to his question.

Biting her lip some more, Tilly rocks back on her heels. “Just – Detmer, Owo, Rhys and the others were wondering if you wanted to have dinner with us. If you want. Rhys said he’s inviting Doctor Culber.”

_They’re pretty smart, you know? They’ll figure it out in a month._

He thinks that if there’s anyone he wouldn't mind losing to, it’d be to Hugh.

_Friends_. He’d much rather have dinner privately with Hugh, but…

“I’ll think about it,” he tells Tilly, who smiles wide in return.

“Also, I found out what’s wrong with the code.”

_She’s exactly your kind of smart._ Dammit. He might actually have to start looking for opera tickets. “Show me," he demands, eager to see her improvements.

Before that, though, he switches on his personal PADD.

#### Private Comms

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Dinner tonight with bridge crew?_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _if you’re up for it_

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _As long as we have dessert in our quarters_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _not staying up till 2300 today?_

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Lorca can grumble at me in the morning_
    >>> _I’ll tell him my doctor ordered rest_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _if i knew it was that easy to pull rank over you..._
    >>> _i'd have made you join starfleet sooner_

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _If you keep going on, I might have to cancel dinner_
    >>> _Skip straight to dessert_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _you can't skip dinner_
    >>> _you'll set a bad example for the kids_

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _What kids?_
    >>> _The mushroom children won't care_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _tilly would care_

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _I hate you_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _i love you too <3_

"Uh, Lieutenant?" Tilly squeaks out.

"Yes?" he patiently asks again.

"Who are you talking with?"

Paul gives her only his second scariest glare. "Mind your business, Cadet."

"Aye, sir." She hesitates. "So about the code..."

He spares one more second to type out a quick reply, not wanting to leave Hugh hanging there.

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _And you really want kids before marriage, Hugh?_
    >>> _Your abuelita would be horrified_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _we’re not in the 20th century. she wouldn’t care_
    >>> _wait_
    >>> _is that a proposal?_
    >>> _paul, you’re not going to propose over a comm_
    >>> _paul?_
    >>> _honey?_

“Are you – are you alright, Lieutenant?” Tilly asks, standing on her toes to get a glimpse of his screen. He tilts the PADD slightly more towards himself.

“Why wouldn’t I be alright, Cadet?”

“You’re, uh, smiling?”

“I hope it hasn’t become a crime to be happy.”

“No!” Tilly shakes her head, her curls bouncing. “Not at all. It’s – I – you look good. When you’re happy.” She freezes. “I mean, not in a weird way. I’ve only ever seen you frown, and I was worried that you – um, it’s good. That you’re happy. Sorry. I’ll stop talking now.”

Paul stares at her for several awkward beats. He tries to search for a lie, for a motive beneath the bubbly kindness. He finds none, which leaves him stilted. “Cadet,” he gently tells her, “thank you. I hope you’re happy,” he tries to find the right words, “and that you’re finding home too on this ship.”

“I am.”

“Great.” He considers her for another moment. Then, he decides he's had enough awkward feelings for the day. Briskly, he orders, “the moisture level in the cultivation bay needs to be adjusted.”

She quickly nods, seeming as relieved as him at the normalcy of work. “Okay, Lieutenant. On it.”

When she leaves, her back is straight. Confident. She's still not quite at home, though, the stiffness of her back betraying her discomfort.

That's alright. She's young, she's proven herself more than brilliant, and bubbly as she might be, he has to admit that she's kind in her own way. Too kind.

He doesn't doubt she'll find her place among the explorers on this ship, just as he's found a home in these shared moments with Hugh, in the promise of dinner together, of a future to look forward to far away from Lorca and his wars.

Paul gives his PADD one last look, letting his smile grow.

Not yet. He’s not proposing just yet. When they get the spore drive working, when they get to go on that vacation, he’ll have a ring ready. They’re already partners in all that matters, anyway.

So for now… he's sure Hugh's tired from a long day of surgeries and messing up supply closets.

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Sorry, Tilly was telling me something_
    >>> _I’m not proposing. If I were, there’d be a lot less clothes involved_
    >>> _But about dessert_
    >>> _I was thinking some majarete?_
    >>> _We can build a blanket fort on the couch_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _that sounds perfect_
    >>> _p.s. i'd marry you any day_

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Don't tempt me, Doctor_
    >>> _Tilly already thinks I'm going insane_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _why?_

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Because I'm smiling_

He can imagine Hugh laughing at that, and he puts down the PADD. Back to work. The sooner he finishes, the sooner he can leave for dinner. The PADD lights up two more times.

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Medical]_**
    >>> _don't worry_
    >>> _i'm smiling too_

Yeah. Work first. And then dinner.

And then dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on tumblr @starklysteve :)


	2. Puzzle Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the first few months on the _Discovery_ , the bridge crew and Tilly are still figuring a few things out. Airiam knows some things, and Hugh wants his partner to eat.
> 
> _Continues from Chapter 1: Place Your Bets on Science_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all your kind words and your love for the crew 💕 because you all wanted to see more of them, this chapter is going to be part of a trilogy of chapters (third chapter coming soon! maybe with the crew figuring things out? 👀) and then i'm going to continue posting other one shots with reno and adira in them because the family wouldn't be complete without them :)

#### Comms Log

#### [Juniors Only]

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _So when are we doing kadis kot again?_
**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _whenever you're ready for me to wipe the floor with you again_
    >>> _i'm not on any alpha shift next week_
**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _How come you're not on alpha?_
**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Perks of her promotion_
    >>> _Is Keyla still considered a junior?_
    >>> _She can play with Airiam and Stamets_
**Bryce, R. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Careful, Rhys_
**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Wait. Is there a seniors only comm?_
**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _no_
    >>> _deal with me >:)_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _hold up_
    >>> _uh_
    >>> _what happens if there's a murder on this ship_

**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Why?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _so_
    >>> _dr. culber came by with a bag of something_
    >>> _medical equipment maybe?_
    >>> _he was looking for stamets_
    >>> _but stamets was in the cultivation bay_
    >>> _and you know how stamets doesn't let anyone in_
    >>> _but dr. culber just said he'd take his chances_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Wow_
**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _technically dr. c outranks stamets_
    >>> _so it should be fine_
    >>> _but that's really brave_
    >>> _and reckless_
**Bryce, R. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Culber was on the war frontier_
    >>> _I doubt Stamets is scarier than a Klingon_
    >>> _He was okay when he joined us for lunch_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _think again_

**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Bryce wasn't there when Stamets reduced Harrington to tears_
**Bryce, R. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _He did what??_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _yeah_
    >>> _stamets is scary_
    >>> _so dr. culber's been in the cultivation bay for more than half an hour_
    >>> _and half the spores there are poisonous_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Hugh's lifesigns aren't in distress_
    >>> _Stamets' pulse is faster than usual_
    >>> _But no signs of murderous impulses_
    >>> _Don't you have access to the cultivation bay?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _stamets locked the door when he went in_
    >>> _dr. culber had override codes_
    >>> _doors are locked again now_
    >>> _and even if they weren't locked_
    >>> _i'm not pissing off my boss even more_
    >>> _elevated heartrates can mean frustration and anger_
    >>> _oh_
    >>> _shit_

**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Tilly?_
**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Tilly? You there?_
**Bryce, R. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Did Stamets kill her?_

“Sir. Hi. Uh,” Tilly drops the PADD and clasps her hand behind her back, head tipped to the side, trying to take a peek as the cultivation bay doors close behind Stamets. No sign of Doctor Culber. Damn.

Lieutenant Stamets pointedly looks at her PADD on the console, flashing with new messages. She swallows when Stamets raises a brow.

“Cadet,” Stamets says with no inflection. Flat. _Shit_ , Tilly thinks as Stamets goes on. “I hope you haven't decided to forget your work when you’re on shift.”

She lets herself breathe a bit. Work talk is good. “I finished the calculations while you were in the bay.”

Stamets stares at her. She stares back at him, biting her lip. _Keep it calm, Sylvia_ , she tells herself in her best approximation of her mother’s voice. Nevermind. Thinking of her mother made her more nervous. Not good.

“Well?” Stamets’ sharp voice makes her jump, “where are the calculations?”

“Oh!” her hand fumbles on the console, shifting her personal PADD out of sight. The holoscreens light up with the jump simulations. “So I adjusted the probabilistic distributions to account for the data from our last jump and the data from Lieutenant Straal’s jumps, and uh, I – ”

The cultivation bay doors _swoosh_ open again. This time, Doctor Culber walks out. He’s not carrying the bag from earlier, and Tilly hesitates. Stamets is glaring at the doctor’s back, jaw clenched tight. She swallows, only the slightest bit relieved when Doctor Culber gives her a brief smile.

She starts to return it with a small wave, but stops when Stamets’ glare turns to her.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, thankful when the doors to Engineering close behind the doctor. _Murder averted_. “I told Doctor Culber that you don’t like to be disturbed when you’re in the bay but he, um, I hope you’re alright.”

“Doctor Culber likes to meddle. I’m entirely fine,” Stamets replies, waving it off and Tilly watches as he taps at some of the graphs.

Does that mean he doesn’t like the doctor? She twists her hands together to keep from fidgeting too much. Her lunch break technically started five minutes ago, and while she’d like to discuss things with the rest of the crew, she doesn’t want to miss this chance to learn.

“What if we adjusted the spore ratio to account for the helical displacement?” she offers.

“That’s actually…” Stamets trails off. He turns to Tilly, and she holds her breath again when he snaps his fingers. “Not the spore ratio. The _density_ in the reaction cube. You can run the simulations again when the diagnostics finish, Cadet.”

“Alright,” she quickly nods. That’s the closest that she’s ever gotten to a praise, and it’s hard to keep from smiling too wide. “Is there anything else?”

“Lorca wants a report. He just heard from the _Glenn’s_ Captain about their progress, and he’s not happy,” Stamets rolls his eyes. “We’ll put these simulations in and remind him that science isn’t _war_. There’s no trigger. Things don’t happen just because you _want_ them to.”

“Of course,” Tilly nods again.

Stamets switches off the holoscreen. “You’re dismissed, Cadet.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” She pauses, buoyed by her giddiness, and waves in the general direction of the door. “I’m, uh, taking my lunch break. Do you – maybe – want to join us again?”

“No.”

Her smile freezes. “Oh. Alright, then.”

“I mean that I’ve already taken my lunch break.” The frown comes back on Stamets’ face. He opens his mouth to say something else, and Tilly waits for whatever it is, swallowing down her disappointment. Then, “but when you come back, I’d be happy to discuss your theories on the effects of the displacement,” Stamets says.

Tilly punches the air. “Yes!” And she freezes again. “I mean, of course, sir. Lieutenant. I’ve read your papers on mycelial interaction and I just remembered something that Lieutenant Straal said about the _Stellaviatori_ and – ”

Stamets holds up his hand, and Tilly snaps her mouth shut.

“Lunch first,” Stamets chides. “I’d hate to deal with Doctor Culber if you drop from hypoglycemia on my watch.”

Ah. Of course. “After lunch,” she gives him one last smile, snagging her personal PADD as she hurriedly walks away before he can change his mind. She doesn’t get a smile in return, but that’s alright.

Today, she’s counting no dead bodies as a win. Tomorrow, she’ll work again on trying to figure out how to make Stamets smile. It might be weird because he _is_ her boss. She doesn’t like seeing people so unhappy, though, and she’s sure that Doctor Culber would agree that the amount of frowning Lieutenant Stamets does is unhealthy.

“You’re alive!” Keyla laughs when Tilly finally arrives at the mess hall, more than twenty minutes late.

“Doctor Culber is alive too,” she grins, “and _he_ might have a thing for men named Paul, but Lieutenant Stamets _definitely_ doesn’t have a thing for men named Hugh.”

Owo moves her tray to make space for Tilly. “Yeah? What happened?”

And Tilly stops short. _Hold up._ Lieutenant Stamets hasn’t left engineering since Tilly came on the alpha shift this morning. So when did he take his lunch break?

It’s a possibility that Stamets lied to her, but why would he lie about _lunch?_

“Tilly?” Airiam asks.

She blinks, filing that thought away for later. “Yeah, so the Lieutenant sent me off to lunch because he doesn’t want to get on Doctor Culber’s bad side.”

Rhys tips his head. “Stamets is scared of Hugh?”

“I guess?”

For some reason, Airiam laughs at that. A mechanical chuckle that makes them all turn to her.

“What?” they all ask.

Airiam shakes her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Tilly squints at her. “Do you know something?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

* * *

Only Tracy was brave enough to kick him out of sickbay, and now that he’s been kicked out, he feels the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. 

His neck cricks.

“Computer, has Paul come home yet?” Hugh asks.

“Negative.”

He sighs. Tracking Paul down at 0100 hours isn’t his favorite thing to do, especially after a long night shift. He supposes that there’s the upside that tracking Paul down isn’t a particularly hard thing to do.

The doors to Engineering open, and true to form, he spots his wayward partner tapping away at a console, lips twisted down concentration. This late into the night, there isn’t anyone other than Paul, which allows Hugh to more properly look at him. His slight annoyance fades into something more fond, his tiredness lifted at the prospect of going to bed with Paul.

_Together._

He decides to give Paul five more minutes, and makes a detour to the cultivation bay to check on the food package he’d brought down earlier for an impromptu picnic. He’s gratified when he finds that the fried rice he’d packed for Paul’s dinner is finished.

The empty box is tucked away in an unassuming corner where no one else is likely to find it, and paper note he’d left with the box is still stuck on its lid, but beneath his looping cursive message of ‘ _if forget to eat dinner, there’s no cuddling tonight_ ’ is a new message, no doubt for him to find.

 _I refuse to accept anything except the best cuddles, Doctor_ , the reply reads in Paul’s messy scrawl. He chuckles at it, and tucks the note in his uniform pocket. The box gets dumped in the recycler by the bay doors.

When he walks back out into Engineering, Paul is still wrapped up in his work. The chronometer reads 0122. He doesn’t feel… peeved that Paul hasn’t noticed him. Just worried, because with the way Lorca is pushing Paul, it’s a miracle that Paul hasn’t snapped yet.

“Hey,” he makes sure to step into Paul’s line of vision as he reaches out to touch Paul’s elbow in greeting. “Burning the midnight oil again?”

Paul sighs, leaning into the touch, and then winces at the chronometer behind Hugh. “I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, Hugh squeezes Paul’s arm. There’s nothing either of them can do about the pressure of the war, and he doesn’t want to add to the pressure on Paul, even if he _does_ miss his partner.

“Are you ready to finish up?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Paul ducks his head, hands tapping out a few more things on the console. “Let me just – okay.” The console starts a new level four diagnostic cycle. “Done.” He offers Hugh a smile. “I’m all yours now.”

Paul leans forward to peck a kiss, which Hugh smiles against.

“All mine, huh?”

“I believe you promised me the _best_ cuddles.”

“I promised you cuddles. _You_ demanded the best cuddles,” Hugh argues.

“And you should know, dear doctor, that I have a way of getting what I want.”

They step into the corridors and the turbolift together. In the seventeen seconds of privacy in the lift, Hugh smiles wider when Paul’s hand sneaks across the small space between them, lacing their fingers together.

“And you should know,” Hugh says in his most conversational tone, “that Rhys is convinced you hate me.”

Paul snorts as they step out of the turbolift. “Where’d he get _that_ conclusion?”

“Apparently Tilly told them about me bringing you lunch today.” He has to pause to stop himself from laughing too loudly in the corridor. “She was worried when I didn’t come out of the bay.”

“Why are all cadets so _nosy?_ ” Paul asks.

Hugh rubs small circles into the back of Paul’s hand. With no one else around at this hour, they can afford to be more lax with their touching. And he’ll never be too tired to hold Paul’s hand.

“Because she cares about you,” he points out. “She also cares about me, too. Rhys said she thought you poisoned me with your magic mushrooms.”

The small smile on Paul’s face speaks volumes, even if his reply is flippant. “Rest assured, if I ever slip mycelia into your food, it’ll put the Academy’s rumors of sex pollen to shame.”

“Sex spores?” Hugh incredulously laughs, unable to stop himself this time. Were they both just running too low on sleep?

“Scientifically, they _do_ exist. But if Rhys thinks you hate me, then I might just win our bet. Risa’s jungles are pretty nice this time of year. Lots of mycelium specimens as vacation souvenirs,” Paul pulls him into their quarters.

Something loosens in Hugh as soon as they step in. _Home_.

“There’s still two weeks before your two months run out,” Hugh argues. “They’ll figure us out before then.”

“No they won’t.” Paul reaches out to unzip Hugh’s uniform jacket. Hugh lets him, and in turn, he unzips Paul’s jacket, using it as an excuse to run his hands over Paul’s chest.

They’re both too tired for anything risqué tonight, but it doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy touching his partner. “Shower?” he suggests.

Paul nods. “And then my cuddles.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“I’m never letting you go.”

“If only Tilly knew,” Hugh kisses the arc of Paul’s cheek, delighting in the way it blushes the lightest pink. He pokes at Paul’s chest, and whispers, teasing, “you’ve got a soft heart.”

“Hearts are muscles,” Paul grumbles, muffling a yawn, his hand snaking up behind Hugh’s neck and massaging the tenseness there. “They’re not supposed to be soft.”

“Don’t worry,” he grins, “I know just the cure.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“If you say it’s a kiss, I’m not going to kiss you.”

“No, kisses can help,” Hugh steps back to pull off his own shirt, finding the energy to wink. “But the _best_ cure is me.”

Paul rakes his eyes over his bare chest. “Is that your professional opinion?”

Hugh kisses him again, this time on the lips.

“Board certified.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @starklysteve


	3. Piece This Heart Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning of the Klingon war, the Discovery sends a landing party of doctors to help with the casualties on the planet Archanis IV. However, a Klingon attack puts the landing party at risk, and it pitches Paul against Lorca.
> 
> Meanwhile, a bet is settled. The bridge crew and Tilly pick sides.
> 
> _Completes the arc from Chapter 1: Place Your Bets on Science and Chapter 2: Puzzle Games_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is far longer than the other two chapters, and it gets a bit plotty. warning that there are some injuries in the chapter, and brief mentions of death as well as discussions of war. but no graphic descriptions of injuries or violence
> 
> saru finally makes an appearance, mirror!lorca tries to sow discord among the crew, but that's easier said than done. hope you all are staying safe and healthy 💛

There were conditions. Starfleet promised that partners could serve on the same ship – citing all sorts of psychological benefits – but in return demanded that their relationships couldn’t interfere with their duty.

Professionalism.

It’s why Paul had agreed with Hugh to keep their relationship mostly under wraps. He thinks he can count on one hand how many people there are on the Discovery that knows about him being Hugh’s partner.

Tracy. Airiam. First Officer Saru. And of course, Captain Lorca.

Frankly, Paul is close to punching the Captain.

He can imagine the disappointment on Hugh’s face if he does that though, and he clenches his hands into fists, eyes rereading again his latest comms that haven’t changed since ten minutes ago.

#### Private Comms

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Engineering]_**
    >>> _We reached the research outpost_
    >>> _Things are a mess_
    >>> _But Tracy will keep us out of trouble_

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Just stay safe_

**Culber, H. _[Lt. Cmdr./Engineering]_**
    >>> _I will_
    >>> _Love you_

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Hey_
    >>> _Just checking in_
    >>> _Hugh?_
    >>> _I know you’re busy, but are you alright?_
    >>> _Tracy isn’t replying either_
    >>> _No one is telling me anything_
    >>> _Airiam says there's been no update for an hour_
    >>> _I hope you're alright_
    >>> _Just reply when you can_
    >>> _Please_
    >>> _Hugh_
    >>> _Love you too_

Rubbing his temples, Paul puts his PADD down and turns back to the results from Tilly’s latest simulations. He’s been studiously ignoring her worried glances. He supposes that this time around, she’s quite right to worry, even if she’s probably wrong in guessing _why_ he’s worried.

“I’m sure the spore drive diagnostic delays will stop as soon as we leave Archanis IV,” she had told him fifteen minutes ago before he snapped at her to leave him alone. That was harsher than necessary, and he’s going to have to apologise.

Later, though. He’s not in the right mind to give apologies now.

Spore drive delays are currently the _least_ of his worries.

Pulling up the surface scans for the planet, he drums his fingers on the console. The medical team’s tracking locations haven’t changed since Airiam gave him his last update an hour ago that things were going fine. Red areas mark the places where the Klingon attack had hit the research facility particularly hard.

They’re uncomfortably close to where Hugh is.

Damn it.

He knows Hugh can protect himself, that Hugh has been with Starfleet far longer than he himself has worn the badge. Things were worse when Hugh was stationed at Starbase 28, on the war front.

But it’s frustrating to be _so close_ to Hugh and still be left in the dark.

And there isn’t anything he can do. It’s part of who Hugh is to volunteer to go with the landing party, to heal, to reduce the casualties that the Klingons inflicted with their barrage of explosives on the planet.

It’s why he loves Hugh. The unflinching courage. The unflinching _kindness_. It’s why he worries, because with a heart like that, it’s easy for Hugh to get hurt.

“Lieutenant Stamets, to the bridge,” the computer chimes.

_What? Speak of the devil._

“Tilly,” he orders, “make sure nobody touches anything they’re not supposed to touch.”

Tilly’s red curls bob as she nods. “Yes, sir.”

His PADD flashes with new message, and he has one second of hope that it’s Hugh –

#### Private Comms

**Saru _[Cmdr./First Officer]_**
    >>> _Lieutenant Stamets, I must warn you to stay calm_

Paul frowns. He types out his reply as he walks to the turbolift.

**Stamets, P. _[Lt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Why?_
    >>> _Do you have news about the landing party?_

The turbolift doors open to the bridge, and –

“Lieutenant Stamets,” Lorca greets him from the Captain’s chair. Saru is standing at the First Officer’s station to the Captain’s right, and the rest of the bridge crew are silent in a way they never are.

Paul clenches his fists, cautious. “Captain. You called?”

“How soon can we jump from this planet?”

“As soon as the medical team and landing party return,” he replies flatly. What was Lorca getting at? “We won’t be able to jump far with the spore drive. Warp would be more reliable.”

“Lieutenant Detmer, you heard the man,” Lorca announces. “If anything happens again on the surface, you’re going to get us out at maximum warp.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Paul steps forward. “Happens ‘ _again_ ’?” he demands. “What happened?”

Lorca’s jaw tightens, and when Paul doesn’t back down, he says, “An array of Klingon explosives were set off on the planet’s surface.”

“ _Explosives?_ ”

“Yes, Lieutenant. They were previously thought to be defect when they did not detonate upon contact with the planet's surface. The staff on the Archanis IV Research Facility was more preoccupied with treating the wounded than cleaning up defect explosives.”

“But they weren’t defects,” Paul fills in the blanks, “were they detonated with a target?”

“We were hoping you could tell us, Lieutenant. Commander Saru has run some correlation analysis, but Commander Landry reported from the ground that there are fears Klingon spies may have infiltrated the facility in the chaos.”

Klingon _spies?_ Paul balks at that. “What research were they doing on Archanis IV?”

“Classified,” Lorca gives him a sharp smile. “But we are _not_ risking our spore drive falling into Klingon hands. The _USS Hiawatha_ is coming over to relieve us.”

 _You’re going to get us out at maximum warp_ , Lorca had ordered Detmer, which means – Hugh. They’re planning on leaving Hugh. No. Paul shakes his head, marching over to Saru’s station. The planet’s map that Paul had been reading earlier with the red areas takes up the screen of his console, but with black areas now surrounding the facility area.

“Do we have scans of the explosives they were using?” Paul asks.

Rhys nods. “Commander Landry is on site collecting them, they should be – ”

“Here,” Saru says. “They just arrived.”

The schematics show up on Rhys’ screen. Paul takes it apart. For the most part, the lumpy explosive shells aren’t sophisticated. Patched together quickly, judging by the rough cuts of the components. He’s not a weapons expert, but he _is_ a physics expert, and that amount of fuel stuffed into the shells… it doesn’t speak of a coordinated attack.

“They’re looking to do maximum damage,” Paul says. “Not to target specific locations.”

“Are you sure, Lieutenant?” Lorca presses. “Because – ”

“Sir!” Owosekun raises her voice, “sensors detect another denotation, thirty seven degrees south of the facility, radius of three kilometers. Casualties unknown.”

 _Three kilometers?_ Before Paul can say anything, Lorca’s commanded, “Detmer, warp us out.”

“Aye – ”

“No,” Paul cuts in, defiant. “ _No_.”

Lorca raises a brow. “Excuse me, Lieutenant?”

“Are you leaving the landing party down there?”

“The _USS Hiawatha_ is _en route_. It is a medical frigate, better equipped that us to handle – ”

“Our ship isn’t even being attacked,” he argues, not caring a damn that the rest of the crew are staring at him, eyes wide, clearly begging him to stand down because this is coming close to mutiny. Paul refuses. “We have a duty, Captain, to protect the lives on that planet, the lives of _our_ team.”

“We have a duty to keep your critical research out of Klingon hands,” Lorca snaps his fingers at Detmer. “Lieutenant, bring us to maximum warp.”

Paul shakes his head at her. She can’t possibly be thinking – they’re not directly in danger. From a tactical standpoint, leaving Archanis IV now would leave the research facility unprotected in the time in takes for the _Hiawatha_ to reach the planet. It makes no sense. Even to keep their spore research safe, they still have plenty of time to get out.

“Sir?” Detmer asks Lorca, and this time, Paul doesn’t give the Captain a chance to say anything.

“Those explosives are meant to kill _as many people_ as possible!” he jabs his finger at the display on the screen. “We can’t wait for the _Hiawatha_ to come and save whoever is left when another – when two more, three more – explosives detonate.”

“And we can’t wait for the Klingons to find out we’re here,” Lorca says. “Give me a single reason why we should stay.”

“Because we’re Starfleet!” Paul shouts, losing his temper, “and that means we leave _no one_ behind.”

That makes Lorca _actually_ look at Paul, the full weight of his gaze falling on him.

“I thought you didn’t believe in Starfleet, Lieutenant. You, the reluctant enlistee.”

“I don’t believe in Starfleet,” he agrees, but he thinks of Hugh down there on the planet, tamping down the panic, the fear. Had Hugh even survived the last explosion? All those unread messages – and yet. He looks at Saru. The first Kelpien on Starfleet. He turns to Airiam, to Detmer who survived the Battle of the Binary Stars. To Owosekun. He thinks of Tilly smiling at him. The _Discovery_. He tips his chin up, unafraid. “I believe in what it _can_ be.”

Lorca scoffs, tapping at the controls on the Captain’s chair. “War doesn’t breed optimism.”

“The opposite of war isn’t peace. It’s creation,” Paul pauses, the memory of Hugh smiling at him making his heart stutter. “It’s _life._ ” The bridge falls silent, only the beeping of the computer punctuating their breaths. “And you’re willing to give up the life of two of our doctors, of the landing party, in the name of what?” he demands.

“In the name of keeping the two hundred souls on the _Discovery_ alive,” Lorca replies evenly. “In the name of keeping the Federation’s secrets safe.”

 _Hypocrite_ , Paul thinks. But now isn’t the time to argue about that. Instead, “then I’ll go,” he says unflinchingly. “I can disable the explosives, use mycelial interaction to detect any remaining ones.”

“And I’ll remind you again that this is _not_ a democracy, Lieutenant. I’ve given you leeway because of what your research might achieve, and you’ve achieved no substantial jumps so far.”

“Speirin ten is a perfectly respectable number,” he argues on rote, fists clenching. His inability to get the _damned_ spore drive working has nothing to do with Lorca abandoning Hugh on the planet, and he refuses to be baited. As an afterthought, he adds, “Sir.”

Lorca finally stands from the Captain’s chair, taking the two strides to reach Saru’s station. “You’re emotionally compromised.” If he’s trying to intimidate Paul by standing this close, it’s not going to work. “Lieutenant Stamets. Believe me, I know what you stand to lose. That is why I haven’t thrown you out of my bridge and into the _brig_ for insubordination.”

Whispers break out across the crew, Detmer trading glances with Owosekun as Saru clicks his tongue to get them to quiet down.

Paul ignores them. He’d rather live out his life in the brig than leave Hugh behind. Duty? Professionalism? Where was Lorca’s duty to protect?

“If these surface scans are correct,” Paul takes a deep breath, turning back to the data on the screen, “then there are at least eleven more explosives. Based on the pattern of detonation since we arrived, they will detonate in increasing rapidness as each previous detonation increases the instability of the other explosives.”

“The planet will be in ashes before the _Hiawatha_ arrives,” Saru concludes for him, hand reaching behind his head as his ganglia pokes out. That isn’t a good sign, but Paul nods in agreement. He has an ally in Saru.

“What do you suggest, then, Number One?” Lorca asks.

Saru clicks his tongue. “Send another landing party. Ensign Rhys can accompany Lieutenants Stamets and Airiam, and Lieutenant Bryce can fly the shuttle to rendezvous with Commander Landry on the surface.” He fans his fingers in thought. “Should the security of our spore drive be compromised, we may warp out in good conscience that there will be no more detonations.”

That’s a good plan. “The planet has a breathable atmosphere. We won't even have to use EV suits,” Paul adds, holding his breath, preparing to fight for it, but –

“You have ten minutes to prep your landing party,” Lorca nods at Airiam and Rhys. “Lieutenant Stamets, to my ready room. Mister Saru, you have the conn.”

* * *

#### Private Comms

#### [Juniors Only]

**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Tilly_
    >>> _Your boss_
    >>> _Holy shit_
    >>> _He's a badass_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _???_
    >>> _what happened??_
    >>> _he's been weird ever since we got to archanis_

**Bryce, R. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _He nearly mutinied_
**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _I believe his exact words were_
    >>> _“I don’t believe in Starfleet. I believe in what it can be.”_
**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _And don't forget_
    >>> _“The opposite of war isn't peace. It's creation.”_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _oh shit_
    >>> _damn_
    >>> _what finally made stamets snap?_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _The Captain wanted to leave behind the landing party and med team_
    >>> _And Stamets just went off on him_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _wait we're not going to leave them_
    >>> _are we?_

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _depends on a lot of things_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _oh_
    >>> _why do i miss all the good drama?_

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _don't worry_
    >>> _you'll be on this bridge in no time_
    >>> _besides having stamets as your boss doesn't seem so bad_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _he's cool when he isn't grumpy_
    >>> _any news on when we'll get out of here?_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Soon_
**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Lorca's sending another landing party down_
    >>> _Stamets and Airiam are part of it_
    >>> _Hope you can handle the spore drive for a bit longer_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _of course i can_
    >>> _is dr. culber alright down there?_

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _we don't know_
    >>> _hence the second landing party_
    >>> _but dr. c is a fighter_
    >>> _he'll be fine, and we need to get back to work_
    >>> _the captain's gonna come out of the ready room soon_
**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Yes, ma'am_

* * *

“War is a universal constant. In every civilisation of human history, on every planet we’ve come across.”

Paul _really_ doesn’t see the point of this, of why the Captain is telling him any of it when he needs to gather equipment to defuse the explosives. Except – “is this a test?” he smiles at Lorca, the dim lights of the sparse ready room casting long shadows. “Are you testing me?”

Lorca walks around the table, putting it between them. “I knew someone like you once. Smart. Brilliant, even. Had an obsession with mushrooms.”

“Why are we doing this? The planet is running out of time.”

“I don’t appreciate insubordination,” Lorca rests his hands on the table. “I’ve been betrayed too many times, and I find that people show their true faces in the face of danger. Some are cowards. They run, they lie.”

Scoffing, Paul shrugs. “With all due respect, _sir_ ,” he dryly says, “there’s another universal constant.”

“The laws of physics? Fate?”

“No,” Paul shakes his head. “Connection.”

Lorca laughs. “ _Love?_ I understand you and Doctor Culber – ”

“I do love Hugh,” he freely confesses, “but the people down there, they have their own families. Doctor Pollard, Commander Landry, the nurses we sent down? They have homes to come back to. If you leave them down there, do you think the rest of the crew will trust you to not leave them the next time something like this happens?”

“Sometimes, we face a no-win scenario. Sometimes, our only choice is the lesser of two evils.”

“Then we _make_ a third choice. Starfleet fought wars to corner the dilithium supply,” Paul spreads his arms. “But we're here, flying on the mycelium network. Saving lives.”

“What about your life?” Lorca holds his gaze, “what would you do to save your own life, Lieutenant?”

He smirks. “You’re asking the wrong question, Captain.”

_What would I do to save Hugh?_

That, however, is apparently enough to satisfy Lorca, because he takes his hands off the table and waves at the door.

“Well, then, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.”

“Understood.” Paul spins on his heels, more than happy to stride out of the ready room and back onto the bridge.

He gives a thankful nod to Saru, doing his best to ignore Lorca’s presence behind him, except –

“It was a test,” Lorca announces to the entire bridge. “Captains go through the _Kobayashi Maru_ , a no-win scenario. But you all are scientists at heart.” He waves at the screen, the red and black areas marring the planet’s map. Paul stops to stare at it as Lorca continues. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have the same mettle, the same _spine_ that it takes to carry the lives of others.”

“So the _Discovery_ won’t be leaving the Archanis system?” Paul frowns. Were the explosions also part of the test, or is Hugh actually in danger?

“You will leave with a second landing party, Lieutenant. The _Discovery_ will maintain orbit and defend the _Hiawatha_ when she arrives.”

So, the explosives _are_ a problem. “I don’t appreciate being roped into pointless games, Captain.”

“Then you’re lucky that this war with the Klingons isn’t a game.” Settling back into the Captain’s chair, Lorca brings up a display of their orbital position. “We have a chain of command for a reason, but I expect that you will voice your concerns to me. Wars can’t be won alone, I can’t lead this ship without your help.”

“Aye Captain,” the crew turns to him.

“Lieutenant Stamets is correct.” Lorca pauses, lips twisting up into the first smile that Paul remembers seeing on him. “We _are_ Starfleet. That means something.”

* * *

#### Private Comms

#### [Juniors Only]

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _any news?_
    >>> _it's been three hours since stamets left_

**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _They've disabled nine Klingon explosives_
    >>> _Still no new detonations since Stamets landed on the planet_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _thank you_
    >>> _just worried_
    >>> _any news about rhys and bryce?_

**Bryce, R. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Manning the shuttle_
    >>> _Landry's with them_
    >>> _Med team made contact five minutes ago_
    >>> _All critical patients treated, just need to transfer them on the Hiawatha_
**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _the hiawatha's arriving in three minutes_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _the spore drive is ready for a short jump_
    >>> _but i think warp is still safer_

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _noted_
    >>> _if stamets and airiam aren't back yet_
    >>> _the captain might consult with you on the bridge_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _!!!!!!!_
    >>> _really??_

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _really_
**Bryce, R. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _They're not going to be done soon_
    >>> _Stamets is insisting they escort the med team back to their shuttle_
**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _you know_
    >>> _i never knew stamets cared that much_
    >>> _but it's nice_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _yeah_
    >>> _i guess he grows on you?_
    >>> _or we grow on him?_
    >>> _like mushrooms_

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _tilly_
    >>> _are you alright?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _no :)_

* * *

“We’re done here,” Paul slings his jacket over his shoulder. With the ventilation systems on the planet working at a quarter capacity, it’s sweltering hot, and he’s glad to be finished with defusing the last of the explosives.

Airiam scans the dismantled explosive components with her tricorder. “Commander Landry, if you could load these components into the shuttle? Their material analysis may shed some light on the Klingon war efforts.”

“Rhys, you’re with me,” Landry tosses a phaser at Airiam. “You both can find the makeshift med tent? They should be done transferring patients onto the _Hiawatha_.”

“Fourteen degrees north,” Paul repeats her earlier instructions, grateful that for all of Landry’s prickliness, she’s not saying anything about his insistence on checking the med team’s progress. He had used the flimsy excuse that they haven’t scanned the medical tent area for lingering Klingon weaponry.

The short trek towards the tent is uneventful, per se. Dark scorch marks scar the planet’s surface, another reminder of the war looming overhead, of the lives at stake, of why he _has_ to figure out the spore drive.

He’s grateful for Airiam’s silence, because it gives him space to think, to gather himself as he weighs the costs of staying with Starfleet. They mount up: losing Hugh to this ridiculous war, Lorca twisting the spore drive into a tool for death.

But leaving Starfleet... he knows that he can’t ask Hugh to walk away from this life of blazing across the stars, of reaching out and offering hope, healing. It would be like asking the sun to stop shining – absolutely possible, but absolutely devastating, too.

And he hadn’t lied to Lorca. There was nobility in Starfleet’s promise of peace, friendship, _discovery_ , just as much as there was hypocrisy in it. Hugh had made him put faith in the brighter hope, and yet –

“We’re here,” Airiam nudges his ribs.

He blinks, taking in the white dome of the medical tent that Hugh must’ve set up. “Tricorders on,” he fumbles for his own tool in his belt pocket. “The Klingons might’ve left some other surprises we haven’t seen yet.”

“Well, you’re a surprise I _have_ seen.”

He whips around.

Hugh smiles at him.

He takes in the easy curve of Hugh’s lips, the white uniform stained with black dirt and drying blood, the polished badge sitting proud above Hugh’s heart.

“Doctor Culber,” Paul greets back as calmly as he can, and he nods to Tracy, who’s made her way out of the tent too. “Doctor Pollard. I hope you’re ready to return to the shuttle?”

“Just waiting on you, Lieutenant Stamets. We’re leaving the tent here for the _Hiawatha_ ’s doctors to use.” Hugh reaches out to brush Paul’s elbow with his palm. “I hope neither of you are in need of medical attention.”

He gives himself a second to lean into the comfort of the touch, the relief after the fear of losing Hugh to Lorca’s goddamned war, and he wraps himself in the heat of it.

“No medical attention needed,” he assures Hugh, who clearly needs the comfort as much as him. It’s never easy to see death, to bury bodies on scorched earth, and he summons up a lopsided smile, hoping to ease him. “I wouldn’t mind your attention, though, Doctor.”

Tracy rolls her eyes, tipping her head at Airiam. “Ignore those lovebirds. Help me lift up our supplies?”

“Certainly, Doctor,” Airiam says. “Even with my memory deletion, I’d prefer not to witness their flirtations escalate.”

“Were _you_ alright?” Paul huffs, hand slipping easily around Hugh’s waist as they head over to the supply boxes to carry back.

“Were you worried?”

That’s easy to admit. “Of course.”

“There were just more patients than we expected.” Hugh sighs. “And we were already expecting a lot.”

“Was it that bad?” Paul asks. _Did you lose anyone?_

“Yeah.” _Yes_.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

He takes Hugh’s hand to squeeze it gently. “I didn’t do anything much. You were the ones saving actual lives.” _Not all of them, but enough. Enough lives to make a difference_. He hopes Hugh understands that.

Hugh squeezes back. “You’re here. And that’s enough to be grateful for. Even if it’s selfish.”

“It’s not – ”

Airiam’s tricorder beeps, loud and insistent, and –

 _Shit_.

His own tricorder beeps.

 _Oh no_.

He spins around, holding his tricorder up to search for the source.

It flashes red. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“You all need to go,” he says, swallowing.

Hugh frowns. “What?”

His hands don’t shake, because they _can’t_.

Bending down slowly, Paul sifts his hand through the ash and scorched dirt, his other hand gripping tight to the tricorder until – his thumb finds metal.

Right. One wrong inch and this thing is going to, well. It won’t be pleasant.

“Lieutenant Airiam,” he silently begs her not to argue, “take the med team out.”

“Belay that order,” Hugh snaps, all the easiness from earlier gone. “I outrank you, and whatever it is, I am _not_ leaving you alone. Lieutenant Airiam, Doctor Pollard, get to the shuttle.”

Paul glares at him. “You _all_ need to leave.” He sifts through the dirt some more until he can see the edge of wires poking out from the ground. The tricorder beeps again, more rapidly this time.

The Klingon bomb is armed, and judging by the thin line of Tracy’s lips, they all know it.

There’s a twentieth-century saying that karma can be quite a bitch. This _has_ to be his karma for lying to Landry.

“Stamets,” Airiam kneels on the ground next to him. “My sensors say that we have one hundred and forty seconds before the fuel cells of the explosive become unstable.”

With a radius of three kilometers, that isn’t enough. “I can delay it.” He takes in the mess of wires. “But you all need to leave, and I have no time to argue with you.”

“Good, because this isn’t an argument,” Hugh says. “It’s an order. Wait for us in the shuttle, Lieutenant Airiam. Doctor Pollard, escort _Discovery_ ’s nurses to the shuttle with her.”

“We are Starfleet,” Airiam repeats, “we leave no one behind.”

 _Damn it_.

He swallows again. The tricorder on the ground gives out another two loud beeps. _Fuck._ Hugh _cannot_ be here. He can’t. The most that Paul can do is to delay the explosion, to give Hugh enough time to get out, and yet –

“I’m not letting go of you,” Hugh says, with so much conviction that Paul, despite himself, leans into it, into that faith.

When Airiam and Tracy leave, he doesn’t quite register it, his heartbeat pounding too loud in his own ears. Explosives were built on chemical reactions, and chemistry was just physics, and physics was just biology.

“You’re an idiot,” he mutters under his breath to Hugh, who’s taken Airiam’s place and is kneeling next to him. “You should go.”

“I’ve seen too much death today,” Hugh says, truthful as ever. “I’m not going to see yours. So shut up and make sure we don’t die.”

Silently, he moves the tube to the right to disconnect it from the fuel cells. He doesn’t deserve Hugh, doesn’t want Hugh’s life in his hands. How many seconds has it been? One hundred, maybe?

Rhys’ scans of the bombs they’d disarmed earlier showed a mesh of metal, and if he can disconnect the fuel cells from that, it should localise the explosion, keep it from getting too big.

Carefully nudging the bomb casing in the ground, he searches for –

 _Oh, hell_.

“Get back – ”

“Paul!”

* * *

“Captain, sensors detect a detonation,” Owo reports, and Keyla watches as Owo’s hands shake. “Lieutenant Stamets’ lifesigns are in severe distress.”

“Can we get close enough to be in transporter range?” Captain Lorca asks.

“The debris from the attack is still too thick for us to get through,” Keyla says.

Commander Saru clicks his tongue. “Shields will hold up if we enter the inner orbit through the other pole of the planet where the debris is thinner.”

“We need our shields at full capacity in case the Klingons return,” the Captain dismisses that idea.

Keyla feels the pit in her stomach grow again. After the _Shenzhou_ , after Captain Georgiou – she knows war in a way that Rhys can only imagine and Owo can only fear. She carries it in the implants that Doctor Culber had knitted into her skin, in the words that Captain Georgiou had left them all with. _Battle is not simulation. It's blood and screams and funerals. I taught you better than that._

There’s no glory in that loss, and she doesn’t think she’s ready to give up so easily, to face another loss.

The Captain might lead the ship, but _she’s_ the one who flies it.

“We can reroute the power from the spore drive to boost shields,” she offers, “Cadet Tilly can run the calculations, and I can – ” she brings up the map of the planet’s inner orbit. “I can fly us through the north side, bring us into the inner orbit above the research facility.”

“Are you sure, Lieutenant Detmer?” Commander Saru asks.

She feels Owo’s steady gaze on her, Captain Lorca’s appraising look and Commander Saru’s patience. They won’t blame her if she fails. But she’ll blame herself if she doesn’t at least _try._

“I started flying before I learned how to ride a bike.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sure.”

* * *

There’s a weight on his chest. A familiar scent. Paul’s aftershave. Sharp mint.

Hugh tries to move, and – what?

Why is he lying flat on his back?

The surface is too hard to be their soft bed, so –

Oh.

He coughs out the dust in his mouth, wincing at the flaring pain in his head.

The weight on his chest shifts.

He hesitates.

“Paul?”

It's dark all around them.

His hand blindly finds the back Paul’s uniform. It catches on a... shard of metal? And it comes away sticky, wet with blood.

It clicks in his sluggish head. Paul must have thrown himself in front of Hugh when the explosion had gone off. He feels a bubbling anger – _that idiot_ – that's quickly drowned out with a worry. It adds uncomfortably to the nausea already churning in his stomach.

Okay. Alright. Compartmentalise.

No Hugh. Just Doctor Culber for now.

This was a risk they'd both accepted. Serving on the same ship during a war was better than serving on opposite sides of the galaxy, helplessly waiting for news of each other.

And there's no one who knows Paul as well as him.

Finding Paul’s neck is easy. A map he’s memorised years ago, and his chest feels less heavy when he finds the pulse beating there. Too slow to be healthy, strong enough to be blessedly _alive_.

He needs to move Paul off his chest to treat him, but he can’t see anything. If he squints, he can make out the shapes of the wreckage from the explosion. Some of the shrapnel are still burning with blue embers, which means he mustn’t have blacked out for too long.

That’s good. Because then Paul wouldn’t have had the time to bleed out.

“Paul?” he tries again.

No response. That’s… not good, his fuzzy brain informs him. Does he have a concussion? Not important. Paul matters more, and right now, he lets his hand wander down, catching on Paul’s belt, fumbling for the communicator there.

 _Please, please work_. He flips it open. “Culber to Discovery. Do you read me?”

Silence.

All around them, there's only a desert of dark ash, the blue embers starting to dim and die out.

“Culber to Discovery,” he tries again, more insistent.

“Hmph.”

Hugh freezes. “Paul?”

“Ugh.”

He feels Paul’s head move against his neck, and he drops the communicator, hand cupping the back of Paul’s neck to steady it. He doesn’t know the extent of the injury – whether Paul’s spinal cord is compromised or not – and he’s not too keen on letting Paul move anything.

“Stay _still_ ,” he grits out. “I know it hurts, Paul, but I need you to tell me where it hurts.”

“Ev’rywh’re,” the muffled reply comes, Paul’s short breaths puffing on his neck. “H’gh?”

“Yes, I’m alive,” Hugh confirms. He checks again on Paul’s pulse, and keeps talking to take Paul’s mind off the pain, “and yes, I’m plotting to kill you, but can you feel your legs?”

“I c’n feel y’ur d’ck.”

Of all people, _why_ did Hugh have to fall in love with this hopelessly insane man? “What about your hands? Can you feel them?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Likely no spinal injuries, then. “I’m going to try sit us up. I need to look at your back.”

“H’rts.”

Hugh twists his head to one side to press a quick kiss into Paul’s hair, frowning at the metallic scent that speaks of blood. “I know. And I know you’re braver than that.” He cradles the back of Paul’s neck to support it, and he slowly sits up, lifting both their weights. His own head spins at the movement, but it’s nothing to the groan of pain that Paul lets out.

“H’gh.”

“I’m sorry.” From this angle, he can see better the mess that is Paul’s back. There’s rusted shrapnel lodged into his shoulder. Surface cuts from where his uniform’s been torn apart by the force of the explosion, and what looks to be some third and fourth degree burns.

Hugh swallows. He does have an emergency dermal regenerator in his belt, which he reaches for. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, adding some edge to his apology. He can’t let Paul hear his fear, can’t let himself be distracted by it. “I didn’t ask for you to jump in front of a bomb.”

“’orry,” Paul mumbles back, then hisses as the regen works on the surface cuts.

“You know,” he keeps talking to take Paul’s mind off the sting of the regen, “for such a smart man, you can be pretty stupid.” Paul shifts, and Hugh lightly nudges his legs. “ _Stay still_ ,” he chides firmly.

Good bedside manner wasn’t always necessary. Doctor Kashkooli hadn’t been particularly _polite_ when he had torn his shoulder on Cabo Rojo, and she’d been the first to teach him that healing isn’t always gentle.

“’ow ‘ngry ‘re y’u?”

 _Very_. His own headache wasn’t helping with his temper either. They blue embers from the metal shrapnel around them flicker, their stench growing sharper. This is far from Hugh’s idea of a vacation. “Angry enough that you’re sleeping on the couch for six days after you go through four cycles on the regenerator.”

“On th’ couch b’side y’u?”

“Alone,” Hugh huffs. He checks on the new skin beneath Paul’s shoulderblade, carefully avoiding the edges of the torn uniform and the inches of shrapnel sticking out of Paul’s other shoulder. The new skin still thin, and will break easily. It’s only a stopgap to stop any more bleeding. He sighs. “I’ll let you take my blanket, though.”

He feels Paul smile against his neck, the short, raspy breaths turned less laboured. Healing isn’t always gentle, but it’s always _kind_.

“F’ve days?” Paul tries to bargain, and Hugh huffs at the man’s gall.

“Five _nights_ ,” he offers, changing the settings on the regen to start treating the burns.

The shrapnel will need to stay in until they get to sickbay –

Hugh shuts his eyes, groaning.

He squints them open slowly, frowning at the bright yellow light –

At the loud humming overhead.

Paul shifts unhappily on his chest. “Wh’t?”

“Oh thank god.” That’s Owosekun’s voice. That’s the Discovery above them, somehow hovering in the atmosphere. Hugh stares as Owosekun crouches down in front of him and Paul. “Lieutenant, Doctor,” she greets them. “Are you – ”

“This idiot decided to put himself in the blast radius of a Klingon missile,” he explains quickly. With the lights from the Discovery above them, he can see Paul’s wounds more clearly. They’re less severe than he had thought, but –

“I was – ” Paul coughs, “I was prot’cting you.”

“By giving me more work?” Hugh argues, “I like healing people, but only when those people aren’t idiots.”

“Doctor?” Owosekun clears her throat.

For a second, he glances at the sky again, eyeing the _Discovery_ 's lights, needing to be sure that it really is there, that his own mind isn't conjuring it.

“Emergency transport to sickbay, please,” he finally gives in.

His own, heavy head falls forward, cheek resting on the soft bed of Paul's hair, the sheer relief stealing the strength that had kept him up.

“Of course.” She flips open her communicator, smiling with the same giddy, victorious relief. “Owosekun to Discovery. Three to transport.”

Familiar golden light surrounds them, and in the split seconds before it takes them off the planet, Hugh holds tight to Paul, his hand finding Paul’s hand.

* * *

#### Private Comms

#### [Juniors Only]

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _okay so uh_
    >>> _three days ago_
    >>> _a few hours after owo beamed them off archanis iv_
    >>> _i visited sickbay to check on stamets_
    >>> _and to tell him that i didn't blow up the spore drive while he was away_
    >>> _and stamets was fighting with dr. culber_
    >>> _coz stamets threw himself in front of a klingon bomb??_

**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Culber called Stamets an idiot when I beamed down to transport them out_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _dr. pollard said it's normal_
    >>> _and to just ignore them_
    >>> _but i'm in sickbay now to ask about the spores_
    >>> _stamets is fighting with dr. c again :(_

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _about what?_
    >>> _but do you think we should give him something?_
    >>> _tilly's right. it's been three days_
    >>> _and dr. c hasn't declared stamets fit for duty_
**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Yeah that's worrying_
    >>> _And not just because the Captain is getting more impatient_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _a gift, like a get well soon gift?_
    >>> _if it has anything to do with mushrooms_
    >>> _i'm sure stamets will love it_

**Bryce, R. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _What about a shirt saying_
    >>> _"I'm a funguy"_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _.....anything but that_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _We should make something for Hugh too_
**Bryce, R. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Why?_
**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Because he seems stressed_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _yeah_
    >>> _uh dr. culber just snapped at stamets_
    >>> _"because for some goddamned reason, i care about you"_
    >>> _he shouted that and stamets is_

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _tilly?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _sorry_
    >>> _stamets doesn't look too happy_
    >>> _dr. culber threatened to kill stamets if stamets doesn't go straight home to his quarters_
    >>> _are doctors supposed to do that?_
    >>> _oooookay stamets left_
    >>> _i really hope he isn't heading down to engineering_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _I told you_
    >>> _Hugh is one stressed doctor_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _well he's heading to the mess hall now_
    >>> _hopefully food cheers him up_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _He's heading here?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _you're in the mess hall?_
    >>> _what's on the lunch menu?_

Rhys looks up from his PADD, nudging Keyla in the ribs. “Do you think I should say hi to him?”

“People can always use a friend,” Keyla says through her mouthful of Andorian crisps.

Across from her, Airiam nods. “I hear Lieutenant Stamets is being a difficult patient.”

“I wish I could’ve done more to help,” he shrugs, craning his neck to try and spot Hugh in the crowded mess hall.

“You helped disable the explosives on the planet, Ensign,” Airiam says. “That was more than enough.”

He wishes he could believe that. He was only on the bridge because Commander Landry had gone with the first landing party – he’s an Ensign. He has no business being a tactical officer in the middle of a war. It feels too vast for him to grasp.

Of course Starfleet prepared its crew for the possibility of combat, but it was only ever a _possibility_.

He wonders where the mutineer Michael Burnham is, and he thinks back to Stamets who had been ready to go against Lorca’s command for the sake of saving a handful of lives.

War.

They had nothing if not themselves, if not the people on this ship, and he supposes Keyla is right. People can always use a friend.

“Hugh!” he calls out, spotting him by the synthesizers, and he gives Keyla and Airiam a parting smile as he walks over.

“Ensign Rhys,” Hugh greets cheerfully enough.

Still, Rhys can see the shadows in his eyes from too little sleep. “I hope you’re feeling alright.”

Hugh smiles. “You’re stealing my lines.”

“Well, I’ve missed you in the gym these past three days.”

“ _One hearty Benzorian salad_ ,” the computer announces, the synthesizer sliding open. “ _One nutritious pho with minimal spice._ ”

“Doctor Pollard fixed my concussion,” Hugh takes the first tray out. “I’m just a bit tired dealing with stubborn people.”

“Let me help,” Rhys takes out the second tray for him. “Who are you eating with?”

He gets a hesitant look from Hugh. “Lieutenant Stamets. He’s at home – in his quarters, and I’m not keen on letting him wander around the ship.”

Rhys shrugs. He’s never been to Stamets’ quarters, but he’s sure it isn’t quite a long walk. “I’ve got twenty more minutes to my break. And I’m not in a rush to get back to the bridge with Lorca in a mood.”

“If you’re sure,” Hugh says.

“I’m sure.” They make a beeline out of the mess hall, and Rhys is grateful it isn’t the rush hour because he really wouldn’t like to spill Stamets’ soup. “Tilly’s worried about her boss,” he says, “any idea on gifts to cheer Stamets up?”

For some reason, that makes Hugh laugh. “Now, why do you think I’d know anything about that?”

“Because you’re his doctor? And you know several men named Paul.”

“He’s bullheaded and stubborn and,” Hugh sighs, “I love that man but sometimes I want to strangle him.”

Rhys pauses, frowning at the tray of pho as they turn a corner. “Are you talking about uh, your friend Paul or Lieutenant Stamets?”

Huffing, Hugh takes a deep breath, smile lopsided. “My Paul. Lieutenant Stamets can be rather hopeless too.” Another huff, more… _fond?_ “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Right. He hadn’t expected the conversation to veer this way, but he never quite expected his own life to veer onto a science vessel in the middle of a war. He guesses it’s better to take things one day at a time, whether it’s sparring with Hugh, having lunches with the bridge, and talking with Doctor Culber.

He’s known Hugh since they were both on the _USS Hood_ , when he was still a cadet and Hugh was set to become CMO of the ship. He hasn’t figured out why Hugh would turn down a CMO promotion on a Constitution-class ship – the cream of the crop – to be CMO of a Crossfield-class ship, but he was thankful to have a familiar friend when his promotion to ensign had led him to the _Discovery_.

It hits him suddenly that he might have lost a friend if not for Stamets’ sacrifice.

“I’m glad that you’re fine,” Rhys offers.

“Thank you for coming along on the second landing party.”

“You know,” he waves off the gratitude. He barely did anything done there except carry away bombshells. “Stamets snapped when the Captain considered leaving your med team on Archanis IV.”

“Did he?” Hugh stops.

Rhys nods. “Made a pretty big speech about what he believes Starfleet can be.”

That makes Hugh smirk. “You know what he’d like as a gift? A collection of Kasseelian arias.”

Wait. “What?”

“He loves them. In a manner of speaking.”

“Tilly thought he’d want something to do with mushrooms.”

“You’d be surprised with Lieutenant Stamets’ tastes.”

* * *

#### Private Comms

#### Juniors Only

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _So earlier I helped Hugh bring food for Stamets_
    >>> _And I didn't know that Lieutenants had quarters that big_
**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _what do you mean?_
    >>> _my quarters are the same size as yours_
    >>> _i just don't have to share_
**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Stamets' bed has to be twice as big as yours_
**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Why are we talking about Stamets' bed?_
    >>> _I really don't want to know anything about it_
**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _I didn't mean to see it_
    >>> _I was just helping Hugh_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _uhhhh_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Sorry Tilly_
    >>> _I forgot we have young ears here_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _hey_
    >>> _i'm not that young_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Oh and Hugh said Stamets likes Kasseelian arias_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _?????_
    >>> _are we talking about the same stamets here?_
    >>> _stamets hates music_
    >>> _this one time magnus was humming in the lab_
    >>> _stamets locked him out for the rest of the day_

She bites her lip, slipping her PADD into her pocket and considers the tray of asopao that Stamets had asked her to bring to his quarters. But after what Rhys said… she doesn’t know if this is a trap.

 _Deck 9-03-Q_.

The PADD's chronometer had read 2047, so it's by no means late, but the screen by the door is blacked out, with a red _DO NOT DISTURB_ notice flashing. She _could_ hack into it to ring the doorbell. A more old-fashioned method would be faster, though.

Rapping her knuckles on the door, Tilly carefully balances the tray on one hand.

There’s no reply.

She knocks again.

 _One starship_ , she counts, _two starships. Three –_

“Cadet?”

“Doctor Culber!” she frowns, craning her neck to try see past Doctor Culber’s shoulder and into the room. Her mother’s voice rings in her head: _Sylvia, that isn’t very polite_. She takes a step back, holding out the tray. A sort of armor for herself. “I, uh, this is – is this Lieutenant Stamets’ quarters?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

 _Okay. Right. Sylvia, don’t mess up_. And it’s Doctor Culber. Who had given her all her allergy prescriptions, who hadn’t mocked her about her chronic snoring or her caffeine addiction. He’s very friendly, even if it’s weird to see him in only a white shirt, the uniform jacket nowhere to be seen.

She holds out the tray even further, almost nudging it into Doctor Culber's hands. “The Lieutenant asked me to, ah, bring him this.”

“Is that – is that Tilly?”

Perking up at Stamets’ voice, she raises her own voice. “Are you feeling better, Lieutenant?”

“Can you convince the Doctor that I’m alright?” Stamets asks from somewhere in the room, and in front of her, Doctor Culber rolls his eyes… affectionately?

Biting her lip, she shakes her head, one of her curls falling into her eyes. She ignores it. “I’d rather not,” she says. “I don’t have a doctorate in anything.”

Doctor Culber takes the tray from her, which is a relief. Quickly, she tucks the strand of hair back behind her ear, unable to stop her smile when Doctor Culber turns his head into the quarters to chide, “and despite your two doctorates, might I remind you, Lieutenant Stamets, that neither of them are in medicine.”

“I could – ”

“ _No_ , you are not going to get a doctorate in medicine.”

“But – ”

“No buts, and certainly no butts for you,” Doctor Culber says firmly to Stamets, the tray of asopao perfectly balanced in his hand, as if he’s done this a hundred thousand times before.

Tilly supposes that he’s had difficult patients like this before. She herself certainly isn’t the easiest patient.

Glancing down at her PADD again, she bites her lip as she types out a quick reply. Neither of them are paying attention to what she’s doing, and she’d much rather not be caught between their fight anyway.

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _tilly_
    >>> _are you coming for kadis kot?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _yeah_
    >>> _sorry_
    >>> _just finished reporting to stamets_
    >>> _dr. culber was in stamets' quarters_
    >>> _and they were bickering like an old married couple_

**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _Seriously?_
    >>> _Again?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _wait_
    >>> _they can't be_
    >>> _can they??_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _What?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _holy shit_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _Tilly?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _do you think they're married?_

**Owosekun, J. _[Lt. Jr-G./Operations]_**
    >>> _With how much they bicker?_
    >>> _No_
    >>> _Actually_
    >>> _Maybe?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _i asked the computer to locate dr. culber's quarters_
    >>> _and the computer gave me stamets' quarters_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _????_
    >>> _Are you sure?_
**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _you hang out with him_
    >>> _you've never been by his quarters?_
**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _We go to the gym together_
    >>> _I don't follow him home to shower_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _if they're married_
    >>> _that explains so much_

**Detmer, K. _[Lt./Operations]_**
    >>> _you could try asking stamets?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _are you kidding?_
    >>> _i don't have a death wish_
    >>> _they'd kinda make a cute couple, though_
    >>> _rhys can try asking hugh_

**Rhys, G. _[Ens./Operations]_**
    >>> _No thanks_

Wait. There’s someone else she can ask. And incidentally...

“Doctor Culber?” she clears her throat as pointedly as she can without being too disrespectful.

“Sorry, Cadet,” he turns back to her, his smile somehow happier than before. Did she miss part of their conversation? She doesn’t have time to ask, because Doctor Culber starts speaking again. “Is there anything else Lieutenant Stamets asked you for?”

“No.” Somehow, she finds the courage to add, “and I don’t want to presume, but uh, it’s good that Lieutenant Stamets has you.”

The smile on Doctor Culber’s lips turn smaller. Kinder. “You have me too.”

Yeah. She’s starting to understand that. And it feels nice.

But she waves at the tray of asopao that Stamets had asked her to bring. “Not in the way that he has you.”

Doctor Culber nods. “You’re sharper than what people would assume of you. I’m glad Paul has you too.”

A disgruntled voice makes its way to them. “I’m right here, you know?”

Tilly grins. “Get well soon, Lieutenant!”

“Leave her alone, Hugh.”

“Ignore him,” Doctor Culber laughs. “He just lost a bet.”

“Oh!” That reminds her. “Doctor Straal left a message through me. He said that Lieutenant Stamets’ spore drive research would go faster if the _Discovery_ ’s scientists didn’t throw themselves on Klingon bombs.”

“ _Why_ is everyone conspiring against me?” Stamets groans. She still can’t see him, but she can imagine his frown, and suddenly it doesn’t seem all too scary.

Doctor Culber winks at her. “Because we care about you,” he says into the quarters.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We do. And, um, Doctor Straal also sent over a gift? He says it’s some new kids you should take care of – they’re not actually real live children, are they?”

“Well, they’re alive,” Doctor Culber shrugs, the asopao tipping slightly in the tray. “In a manner of speaking.”

“They’re alive? In that small box? Do we have to take them out? What – ”

“They’re mushrooms. They’ll survive for a few days,” Doctor Culber turns again into the room, “which is a few more days than you’ll survive if you try to get out of that bed, Paul. No checking on the kids.” He turns back to her. “Sorry.”

“I get it,” she waves it off. “I’m glad that there’s something happy on this ship. And Lieutenant Stamets isn’t half as grumpy as Captain Lorca is right now.”

“Careful, he’ll take that as a challenge.”

“He should come to game night some time,” she blurts out. “If he wants. And you, uh, you too, Doctor.”

He reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder. It’s enough to calm her down, and when she smiles, he lets go. “Thank you, Tilly.”

“Have a good night, Doctor.” She pauses. “Not _good_ like good. Just a pleasant night. I mean – I’m not thinking about anything. I promise. It’s gross, which is – ”

“Good night, Tilly,” Doctor Culber gently says.

Then, from somewhere in the quarters, “good night, Cadet.”

“Good night, Doctor.” She gives a small wave over Doctor Culber’s shoulder. “Get well soon, Lieutenant!”

With that, the door finally closes.

She takes a deep breath, loosening her hand around her PADD. She hadn’t noticed that she was gripping it that tightly.

A new message flashes across it.

#### Private Comms

#### External Link

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Doctor_
    >>> _Sorry to disturb you_
    >>> _I just wanted to ask_
    >>> _Is Lieutenant Stamets married to Doctor Culber?_

**Straal, J. _{USS Glenn, Lt./Engineering}_**
    >>> _Did you finally notice their bickering?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _No_
    >>> _Yes?_
    >>> _Are they always like this, Doctor Straal?_

**Straal, J. _{USS Glenn, Lt./Engineering}_**
    >>> _It’s either bickering or heart eyes and Paul doesn’t focus for a week_
    >>> _I prefer the bickering_
    >>> _But they’re not married_
    >>> _Yet_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Thanks for the confirmation, Doctor_

**Straal, J. _{USS Glenn, Lt./Engineering}_**
    >>> _Also, I thought I told you_
    >>> _Anyone who can survive Paul for a month can call me Justin_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _That would be like saying Paul to Lieutenant Stamets_

**Straal, J. _{USS Glenn, Lt./Engineering}_**
    >>> _He doesn't bite, you know?_
    >>> _Well_
    >>> _He doesn't bite anyone except Hugh_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _ugh_

**Straal, J. _{USS Glenn, Lt./Engineering}_**
    >>> _Sorry_
    >>> _Has Paul checked on the new specimens?_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Not yet_
    >>> _Doctor Culber still has him confined to quarters_

**Straal, J. _{USS Glenn, Lt./Engineering}_**
    >>> _Hugh likes to say Paul never listens to him_
    >>> _But Paul only listens to Hugh_
    >>> _So keep up the good work, Cadet_
    >>> _And welcome to the club_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _What club?_

**Straal, J. _{USS Glenn, Lt./Engineering}_**
    >>> _You've seen their quarters_
    >>> _And Paul only complains about you once a week_
    >>> _You’re practically family_

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _Lieutenant Stamets complains about me?_

**Straal, J. _{USS Glenn, Lt./Engineering}_**
    >>> _He says you’re too loud_
    >>> _But don’t worry, he can’t think when it’s too quiet_
    >>> _So you’re alright_
    >>> _And if you ever get tired of that grouch_
    >>> _The Glenn always has space for cadets_

She grins, her PADD clutched tight. Glancing down the corridor to their closed doors, she wonders if she should tell the others.

If she can even keep this secret.

But she decides it’ll be much funner watching the rest of them figure it out themselves. Besides, Lieutenant Stamets and Doctor Culber deserve the space.

She’s quite happy to let them have it.

**Tilly, S. _[Cdt./Engineering]_**
    >>> _No offense, Doctor Straal_
    >>> _But thank you_
    >>> _I think I'm good here_

* * *

He’d like to sit on the couch next to Hugh as Hugh finishes the asopao, but he thinks that would only get him in bigger trouble.

While he’d been eager to come back to their quarters after three days of being stuck in the medbay, he had hoped that Hugh would at least come to bed with him. He’s had his own dinner, Hugh forcing him to eat some more bland soup and stopping him from scratching the newly formed skin on his back, still tender and raw as his red pajamas rub against it.

The scar from the shrapnel lodged in his shoulder just needs one more regen cycle to completely heal.

Honestly, he doesn’t look forward to it, already itching to _do_ something. And he thinks he’d like to keep a small scar. A mark of how Hugh had put him back together.

But he knows he won’t keep it, because it would remind Hugh too much of nearly losing him, and he won’t do that to Hugh.

Especially when Hugh hasn’t quite forgiven him for putting his own life in danger. They try not to make a habit to let their disagreements go on for days.

Tilly’s visit had done some help in cheering Hugh up.

This time around, however, with the reality of the war closing in around them, he understands why it’s hard to see past the fear, the dread that this won’t be the last time they’ll have this argument.

Paul can’t sit around while Hugh is in danger, Hugh won’t easily let Paul go. _Duty and professionalism_ , those were Starfleet’s demands.

Their work was always going to interfere in their homes – whether with him stationed on Deneva’s labs and Hugh off on the _USS Hood_ a million light years away, or with Lorca pushing him to perfect the spore drive and Hugh coming home to empty quarters.

Still, he refuses to let it pull them apart.

“I’m sorry,” he says again from underneath the pile of blankets Hugh had dumped on him earlier.

“You aren’t sorry,” Hugh puts down his empty bowl, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Paul picks at a loose thread from the chequered blanket. “I’ll never be sorry for keeping you safe.” They’d stolen this blanket from Hugh’s grandmother – that one summer when they’d snuck out of her house to have a picnic on the beach. “But I _am_ sorry for worrying you.”

“You’re so – ” Hugh lets out a heavy breath, head leaning back and thumping softly against the wall behind the couch. “When I woke up after the explosion, you were – you weren’t moving. It was dark, and we were alone, and I didn’t know if I could keep you alive long enough.”

His hand clenches. He wants desperately to reach out. He doesn’t, because Hugh needs the space and he’d give Hugh anything.

So he stays quiet, letting Hugh work through his anger.

 _Mijo, he runs hot_ , Hugh’s mother had warned him, _my Hugh loves with everything he has. With his temper, his smile, his fierceness, and his gentleness._ She had wanted Paul to be ready for a life together with Hugh, but he doesn’t think anyone can ever quite be ready for a love as bright as Hugh’s.

He sits on their bed, counting his breaths.

The PADD he’d left on his nightstand flashes with another message from Lorca, demanding an update on the latest spore drive diagnostic cycle.

For once, he ignores it. Airiam and Tilly can handle whatever comes up.

Eventually, Hugh stands from the couch. “I’m not angry with you because you got hurt. I’m upset that you think I’m worth more than you.”

His chest feels tight. “Hugh.”

Hugh meets his eyes, shrugging.

“I love that you’re brave. That you’re brilliant and not shy about it. That you’re honest, and kind,” Hugh admits freely. “I love that you love me that much. And I can’t ask you to stop. I can’t ask you to change into something that you’re not.” 

Paul watches him walk closer, Hugh's white shirt hanging loose around his shoulders.

“I can only ask you to be more careful, because you’re not just carrying yourself,” Hugh sits on the edge of the bed beside him, his hand hovering over Paul’s thigh. “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t make it out.”

Hesitantly, Paul smiles. “I don’t know, you could become a wildly successful doctor?”

Hugh’s hand falls on Paul’s thigh, warm and safe. “Doctors are only as good as their hearts,” he smiles at Paul.

Paul smiles back. “You’ve got the best one.”

“I’ve got you.”

“I don’t plan to leave anytime soon.”

It’s more than an apology. It’s a promise, and it hangs in the air between them. Until –

Hugh finally sags against him, resting his head on Paul’s chest.

Leaning back, Paul lets them both sink into the softness of the bed, his hand easily finding the bump of the scar on Hugh’s shoulder as he pulls him into hug, holding on tighter than he normally would.

“Thank you,” Hugh mumbles into his shirt.

_For keeping me safe._

_For coming back to me._

_For being here._

He hears all the unsaid words in Hugh’s steady breaths. Leaning down, he ignores the rawness of his back to press a kiss on Hugh’s temple, right above the laugh lines wrinkling it. Their years together, carved into Hugh’s happiness.

“I love you.”

Hugh shifts, pressing his own kiss right above Paul’s pajama collar. “I love you, too.” He pushes himself off Paul, and Paul watches indulgently as he fluffs the pillows on his side of the bed.

Then, he rearranges the blankets covering Paul, tucking its edges in and making sure Paul’s feet are covered.

“Stop doctoring,” Paul lifts the other side of the blankets up, “come back here.”

A hypospray appears in Hugh’s hand. “One last thing.”

Before Paul can stop him, he’s injected a dose of… something into Paul’s neck.

“ _Ow_.”

“That’ll help your burns heal faster,” Hugh tosses the empty hypospray into the recycler. “If you didn’t like that, remember not to throw yourself in front of a Klingon bomb next time.”

“Technically, I threw myself in front of you.” This banter was familiar and easy, the balm of Hugh’s touch helping soothe his raw, new nerves. “Is your head wound alright?”

Climbing into the blankets beside him, Hugh lets him cover them both with the blanket, their legs tangling together.

“I’m alright,” Hugh leans on his chest again. “Rhys told me you defended my honor to Lorca. I hope that won't make the Captain give you an even harder time.”

“I wasn’t going to let him leave you on that planet,” Paul pushes away the memory of his fear. “I think I’ve reached an understanding with him.”

“That’s good.”

“Any ideas what to do? It’s far too early to sleep.”

Propping himself up on his elbow, Hugh’s eyes flick up to the ceiling, smile widening. “Computer, what’s the schedule for the opera house off Starbase 46?”

Paul frowns. “What’re you doing?”

“Planning our next vacation. I wasn’t angry enough to not notice Tilly figuring us out. I intend to collect on our bet.”

“Well, I’m still _not_ adopting Tilly.”

Hugh laughs. “It’s too late. I think _they’ve_ adopted us.”

“That’s not possible. You can’t adopt fathers.”

“So you already see yourself as a father?”

Paul shakes his head, poking at Hugh’s ribs. “I see myself as a partner.”

“A lover?” Hugh teases.

“Yours.”

He feels Hugh’s smile on his skin.

And it feels right.

It feels bright.

It feels home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @starklysteve :)


End file.
